


My Youth is Yours

by notyourbro



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourbro/pseuds/notyourbro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh invites Chris to his family's Christmas party. Chris panics into the next dimension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Youth is Yours

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up 15 minutes with starbucks* the christmas season goes through new year's, right? RIGHT??
> 
> anyway...i hope those who celebrate it had a wonderful christmas. here's 8k of fluff and dumb jokes.
> 
> (title from troye sivan's "youth," because god knows i can't get enough white boy dance music.)

Chris was buried in wrapping paper when his phone went off. “Sexual Healing” blared from its speakers, and Chris scrambled to answer the call, grateful that he spent most of his non-Josh related time alone in his room. 

“Hey,” Chris said. He cradled the phone against his shoulder and pulled a stray piece of tape off his arm. 

“Sup,” Josh greeted. “Like your new ringtone?” 

“It’s beautiful,” Chris deadpanned. Josh laughed, and the sound—even over the phone—sent a happy shiver down Chris’ spine. Josh’s laugh might have been his favorite thing in the known universe.

“It’s not my best work, but you were only in the bathroom. My time was limited. I’d say you should just change your passcode, but considering I’ve cracked the past three…” Josh trailed off, and Chris flushed, remembering what they’d been: he and Josh’s anniversary, Josh’s birthday, and (most embarrassing of all) Josh’s name spelled out on the keypad. After Josh had gotten the last one, Chris considered flinging his phone out the window, and then flinging _himself_ out the window. 

“Guess you’re just easy,” Josh purred, and Chris nearly melted into the floorboards.

“You wish,” he snapped, his voice not half as stern as he wanted it to be. Anxious to change the subject, he added hastily, “Is this why you called? So I can praise you for your devious ways?”

“You know I’m always down for that, but no. I have a question for you.”

One of the many things Chris had learned about his boyfriend was this: Josh Washington never _said_ he had questions. He blurted them, loudly and without preamble, often in public. This was new—and like most new things, it made Chris anxious. “Okay,” he said slowly. 

“What are your plans for Christmas day?” Josh asked. “Besides the usual?” 

“The usual” meant meeting the gang at Josh’s house after everyone’s family parties ended. They baked (translation: Ashley baked), exchanged Secret Santa gifts, and then cozied up in the theater room, watching Christmas movies until they inevitably fell asleep in the squishy armchairs. It was Chris’ favorite part of the holiday season. 

“Nothing, really,” Chris said. “Opening gifts in the morning. That’s pretty much it.” 

“No big family shindig?” Josh pried. Chris squirmed a little. His friends had always assumed he had plans like the rest of them, and Chris never bothered to correct them. Now he felt like he was caught in a lie. 

“No. Just…hanging out with my parents.” 

“Cool,” Josh said. “So, uh, do you want to come to my _big_ family shindig?” 

Whatever Chris had been expecting, it wasn’t that. 

“For real?” he blurted, before his brain could tell his mouth not to say it. Josh just laughed again. 

“For real, Christopher. I want you to come. If you want to, I mean. No pressure.” 

“Oh. Shit. I mean, _yes_. Yeah. I’d love to.” 

“Are you sure?” Josh joked. “I thought I heard an expletive in there somewhere.” 

“No,” Chris stammered. “I mean, yeah, you did. But yeah, I want to come.” 

“Good,” Josh said, and even though he wasn’t outright laughing anymore, Chris could tell he had a shit-eating grin on his face. “People will be here around noon, but you can come earlier, if you want. Just text me.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Chris said, his voice so forced-casual he sounded like he was choking. Josh might’ve snorted, but Chris was too busy internally screaming to know for sure.

“That it does. Talk to you later, bro.” 

Chris barely managed to squeak a “yep” before Josh hung up, and he stared dumbstruck at his phone before doing what he always did when something exciting, scary, and even remotely unusual happened (of which this was all three): He texted Ashley. 

**Chris:** holy shit!!!!!!!!!

Ashley replied with a question mark, and Chris decided that text messages were inefficient, even with the wide range of emojis at his fingertips. He called her instead, and she picked up almost immediately.

“What’s up?”

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Chris said. 

“That completely fails to answer my question.”

Chris took a breath. On the exhale, he said, “Josh invited me to his family’s party on Christmas.” 

There was a beat of silence before Ashley said, “Holy shit.” 

“I know!” Chris shouted.

“He invited you to the Washington family Christmas party? The Christmas party that’s so elusive and top-secret that no one besides a Washington has ever been invited, probably since the beginning of time?” 

“The very same.” 

Ashley let out a long, low whistle. “Sam is gonna be so jealous,” she said. Chris made a mental note to ask Sam if she was going, too—he’d feel better with a fellow outsider—and then Ashley dropped a bombshell: “Is there a dress code?” 

“A dress code?” Chris repeated dumbly. 

“Seems like a rich person thing to do, don’t you think?” 

“Fuck. It totally does.” Chris wracked his brain, trying to remember if he had anything suitable, but his mind came up blank. He’d never been to a wedding _or_ a funeral, and he and Josh had spent their prom night playing video games in Chris’ basement. He cursed under his breath. “Hold on,” he said.

Chris put Ashley on hold and called Josh, drumming his fingers on his knee.

Josh picked up. “Clingy.”

“Shut up,” Chris said. “I was just wondering—is there a dress code for the party? Like, do I have to look super fancy?”

Josh chuckled. “It’s just family, dude. You can wear whatever you want. Cute that you asked, though.” 

“Christ, go _away_ ,” Chris huffed, and then quickly transferred back to Ashley. “Okay, no dress code.” 

“That’s good,” Ashley said. 

Chris considered for a moment. “Good because I don’t need to buy something, bad because I bet Josh would look _great_ in a suit,” he said decisively.

His stomach dropped when it wasn’t Ashley that responded. It was Josh. 

“Uh, Chris? I think you might’ve accidentally done a three-way.” There was a pause before he added, “Wow, never thought I’d hear myself saying that.” 

Chris heard Ashley laugh and say something that sounded like “oh my god,” but he had already pulled the phone away from his ear. He could still hear Josh talking. “Not that I never thought myself or someone I know would end up in a three-way, but because you usually _know_ what you’re getting into? Statistically, I feel like a low percentage of three-ways happen by accident.”

Ashley was still laughing when Chris slammed the “end” button so hard he was surprised his screen didn’t crack. He threw his phone onto the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest. The offending device buzzed twice, and Chris glared at it. He didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t resist. 

On his screen were two texts.

 **Ashley:** yikes  
**Josh:** rude

Chris responded to Josh first. 

**Chris:** don’t talk to me ever again  
**Josh:** we’ll see who breaks first ;)  
**Josh:** and fyi, i do look good in a suit

Chris made an incoherent noise and called Ashley back. 

“I’m the worst,” he moaned by way of greeting. 

“At least you’re not cracking under the pressure,” Ashley said. 

“Listen, are you going to provide emotional support or do I need to lie face-down in bed and scream for five hours?”

Ashley sighed. “You’ll be fine, Chris. I’d tell you that it doesn’t really matter what Josh’s extended family thinks of you, but I know you’re going to stress about it anyway, so just…be yourself. They’ll like you.” 

“Or they’ll think I’m the biggest nerd that’s ever walked the earth.” 

“You definitely are, but that’s why we love you.”

Chris laughed. “Thanks, Ash.” 

“Anytime,” she said. “Really, I’m happy for you. I didn’t know you and Josh were…y’know, that serious.”

Chris knew that was her not-so-subtle way of asking, _are you guys that serious?_ He regretted not having a better answer for her—and more importantly, for himself. 

“I didn’t know we were either,” he said. “I mean, obviously you know how I feel—”

“Believe me,” Ashley interjected. “I know.” 

“Josh just…isn’t really the sharing type.” 

Ashley made a noise of sympathetic understanding. “Well, this is something. This is progress.” 

_Progress._ Chris felt his stupid little heart flutter at the word, and he hoped she was right. They chatted a bit more before saying their goodbyes, and Chris was about to resume wrapping when he remembered: Sam. 

**Chris:** are you going to the washingtons xmas party???  
**Sam:** no????  
**Sam:** ARE YOU??????  
**Chris:** YE  
**Sam:** FUCK

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed again. 

**Sam:** i am now  
**Chris:** atta girl

Chris gave up on wrapping altogether, deciding to save it for another day. He had more pressing matters at hand. He pulled himself off the floor and opened his closet, flipping through the rack. He might not need formal wear, but Chris wanted to look nice for the party (translation: he wanted to look nice for Josh), and that required a decent outfit. Chris needed help—and he knew exactly who to call.

Emily didn’t sound thrilled when she answered the phone, but she did say, “Hello?”—which was better than that time she answered one of Chris’ calls with a loud, wordless groan. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I need your help,” Chris said. 

She sighed. “Is this about the Washington’s party?” 

“Jesus, Em, it’s been fifteen minutes.”

“You underestimate my thirst for gossip.”

“Clearly,” Chris said. He waited for her to prompt him, or better yet, to agree without making him say anything else. If she knew about the party, she _had_ to know why he was calling. She was too smart not to. But she also thrived on Chris’ embarrassment (and people bowing to her expertise), so she let the silence linger until Chris had to break it. He explained everything, including the accidental three-way incident. Even though Emily must’ve heard about that too, she laughed like she hadn’t. 

“Chris, I mean this from the bottom of my heart: You are the most entertaining friend I’ve ever had,” she said.

“Thanks,” he grumbled. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” she chided. “I’ll help you—on one condition.”

Chris was in no position to argue, so he stifled a whine and asked, “What?”

“Jess comes too.” 

That was actually a good idea, but Chris knew it wasn’t why Emily suggested it. “So she can help or revel in my embarrassing lack of style?” 

“Both.”

There it was. Chris sighed. “Fine,” he conceded.

They arrived at his house in record time, and Jess greeted him with a rib-crushing hug. “Chris, I think this is just the cutest thing. We’re going to find the _perfect_ outfit.” 

“Or we’re going to die trying,” Emily said dryly.

Chris glared at her. He was about to say he wasn’t going to take any more of her sass when his mom poked her head into the front room. “Is that Jessica and Emily I hear?” she said, eyes bright. 

Chris’ mom hugged them both, and they exchanged pleasantries before his mom’s smile widened. “So what’s the occasion?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” Chris said quickly, but Jess beat him to it, launching into an enthusiastic explanation before he could stop her. There were practically hearts in her eyes, and when she finished, Chris’ mom looked equally thrilled. Chris could _feel_ Emily smirking as his mom squeezed his arm encouragingly.

“Chris, that’s _wonderful_.”

“It’s nothing,” he said again. Their excitement was infectious, though, and he fought not to grin like an idiot. “Can we go upstairs now?”

She shooed them away on the condition that she was granted consultation rights, and Chris, Emily, and Jess retreated to his room. Emily went straight for the open closet, standing in front of it with a hand on her hip and her lips pursed. She made some less than promising noises, and once stuck out her tongue and gagged. 

“What is _this_?” she asked, pulling out a blindingly orange polo shirt. She held it at arm’s length.

Jess giggled into her hand, and Chris blanched. He’d forgotten that was still in his closet. “That is what’s left of my preppy phase,” he admitted. “Guess I missed it when I cleansed myself.” 

Jess’ eyes widened, and she stared at Chris like she was seeing a completely different person. “Oh my god, I remember,” she said. “You were so…bright.”

“It was terrible,” Chris said. “Can we move on?”

Emily shook her head. “Only if you agree to burn this.” 

Chris gave her a stern look. “I donate.” 

“ _Burn._ ”

Losing his patience, Chris snatched the shirt from her and tossed it onto his bed. “We’ll have a bonfire and dance around its charred remains, okay? Whatever you want.” 

“My three favorite words,” Emily cooed. Satisfied, she turned back to the closet. “This is hopeless, by the way.” 

Chris flopped onto the bed and dropped his head into his hands. “I know,” he groaned. 

“Did you ever stop and think that maybe you have _too many_ anime shirts?”

“Considered it, decided I didn’t care.” 

“It’s not even good anime,” Emily muttered, and Chris’ head shot up. 

“Excuse me?” he said. 

Jess stepped in between them, holding up her hands. “Calm it down, nerds,” she said. “It’s Jess’ turn.” She looked pointedly at Emily, and Emily stepped aside, gesturing toward the closet. 

“All yours, dollface,” she said. Chris noticed Jess’ cheeks turn the slightest bit pink at Emily’s term of endearment, and he raised a quizzical eyebrow. Jess pretended like she didn’t see it, turning her face toward Chris’ closet while Emily rooted through his drawers. 

It took endless trial and error, but Emily and Jess worked their magic. They scrounged a collared white shirt that Chris had worn to an interview, and Jess found a holiday sweater that had been languishing in his closet for at least two years. After careful consideration, they decided it was just the right amount of ugly-chic to work. Josh’s family would genuinely like it, and Josh would like it ironically. Everybody won. Chris suggested jeans to go with it— _nice_ jeans, obviously—but Emily and Jess shot him down with hard glares and convinced him to go with khakis. 

Chris dutifully tried on the outfit and stared at himself in the mirror. He felt like he was pretending to be someone else, but Emily and Jess were right—he looked good. As good as Chris thought he was capable of looking, at least. The girls stood on either side of him, nodding approvingly. 

“You look adorable,” Jess said. “Josh is going to eat you up.” 

Chris laughed, trying not to look as pleased about that as he felt. He met Emily’s gaze in the mirror, and she gave him a casual shrug. 

“I guess you don’t look terrible,” she said. 

“Wow, Em.” Chris held a hand over his heart and clenched the fabric of his sweater. “That really means a lot.” She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and Chris turned around to face them. “Seriously, thank you both. I feel less like I’m going to vomit now.” 

“Anytime,” Jess said, grinning.

“ _Sometimes_ ,” Emily amended. Jess nudged her in the ribs.

The door to Chris’ room opened just then, and Chris’ mom peeked in. Her mouth fell open at the sight, and Chris did his usual ducking-his-head-and-telling-her-to-stop routine while she fawned over him. 

“Gosh, I thought I’d never see that sweater,” she said. 

“First time for everything,” Chris joked. She gave him a meaningful look, and Chris’ nerves kicked in again. He was grateful when his mom changed the subject, asking Emily and Jess if they wanted to stay for dinner. They did, and then Emily kicked their asses in _Mario Kart_. It was, all in all, a surprisingly pleasant end to a _very_ surprising day.

***

The next few days passed quickly, and before Chris knew it, it was Christmas. He pulled on the outfit and checked himself in the mirror again and again. He fiddled uselessly with his hair before grabbing his overnight bag and presents (one for Josh and one for Ashley, whom he’d gotten for Secret Santa) and heading downstairs. He let his parents do their you-look-so-nice thing one last time and left, sending two texts on his way out. He told Ashley he was “leaving now!!!” and let Josh know he would “be there soon!!!”

Josh sent a string of heart emojis, and Ashley said, “Don’t fuck up, son.” Chris gave her a simple “thank” and got in the car. 

The drive to Josh’s house was too long and too short at the same time, and Chris cursed the mild California weather. He never had a problem wearing sweaters, but now that his anxiety was through the roof, he felt cramped and hot in his tiny little car. His palms were slick against the steering wheel, and he opened the window, trying in vain to tug his collar away from his neck.

The Washington’s driveway was mostly full when Chris arrived, and he parked in the street, trudging past expensive cars with a nervous lump in his throat. He rang the doorbell.

Chris half-expected Josh to be wearing a suit, but he wasn’t. He flung open the door in jeans and a black sweater emblazoned with a grinning skull. The skull was wearing a Santa hat. Josh’s grin was nearly identical, and Chris’ gaze bounced between the two.

“Are you serious, dude?” 

Josh reached underneath the sweater, fingers searching for something. The skull lit up, and Josh pulled out his hand to point proudly at his chest. “Very serious,” he said.

“Oh my god,” Chris mumbled, and Josh laughed.

“Get your ass in here, Cochise,” he said. He tugged Chris over the threshold and eyed the gifts in Chris’ arms, a glint in his eye. “Something in there for me?” he asked. 

“Maybe,” Chris said. “If you’re good.” 

Josh raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised at Chris’ choice of words. That made two of them—Chris had blurted it without thinking, realizing the innuendo only in hindsight. He averted his eyes and said, “Can I put these somewhere?”

“Sure thing,” Josh said, smirking a little. He stowed Chris' gifts and bag in a massive closet, and when he turned back to Chris, he was smirking a lot. “You clean up nice.” 

“You thought I wouldn’t?” Chris asked. 

“Didn’t doubt it for a second,” Josh said. He stepped closer, and Chris could see the faint sprinkle of freckles across his nose. Chris wanted to lift Josh’s chin and kiss him, but he stayed still, watching as Josh took a corner of Chris’ collar between his thumb and forefinger. 

“You know, I kind of miss the collars,” he said.

Chris tilted his head back and groaned, remembering the hideous orange shirt that was now crumpled on his floor. “No,” he said. “We’re not talking about that.” 

“Touchy,” Josh teased. Chris was about to say something else, but the words flew out of his head as Josh’s lips brushed his neck, feather-light. Chris shivered slightly, and Josh pressed his lips more firmly against Chris’ skin, working his way up to Chris’ jawline. Chris’ breathing was already a little ragged when Josh kissed him on the mouth, his hand moving from Chris’ collar to the back of his neck. Chris parted his lips, and Josh just smirked against them, nipping at Chris’ bottom lip before pulling away. “Tell Jess and Em they did good.” 

He turned to leave, stopping after a moment when Chris hadn’t moved. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Come and meet the fam.”

They stopped in the kitchen first, where Josh gestured to a ridiculous spread of food and drinks. Chris had only seen it when the party was over—which was still impressive, but nothing like this. Chris and his family usually split a bottle of wine on Christmas, two if they were feeling adventurous. At the Washington’s, there was an entire table _just_ for wine. Emily would be in heaven.

Josh noticed him staring. “You can have some, if you want,” he said. “I doubt my parents will even notice.”

Chris was tempted—alcohol did more for him than any anti-anxiety medication, and it made him enjoy drinking more than he wanted to. But it was early afternoon, _and_ he was about to meet his boyfriend’s extended family. Probably not the best time to take any chances.

“I’m good,” Chris said. “What about you?” 

“Oh, my parents would _definitely_ notice,” Josh said, a bitter edge in his voice. Chris took his hand and squeezed it once, and Josh gave him a sorry half-smile. “No big deal.” 

Beth came into the kitchen, dragging Sam by the hand. They wore matching holiday sweaters, and Chris wondered how much convincing _that_ had taken—and how the hell they’d gotten them on such short notice. The mere thought of entering a store before Christmas made Chris nauseous.

Beth grabbed a wineglass off the table and poured from the nearest bottle. “I don’t care how early it is. I need a drink,” she said. She took a long sip, and Chris cast a nervous glance at Sam as though to ask _that bad?_ Beth noticed and waved her hand dismissively. 

“Everyone’s just so boring,” she said. “Like, _you’re making me drink at noon_ kind of boring. I know my family’s kind of fucked up, but at least we’re interesting.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Hannah said, coming in from a different direction. “About the fucked up part, I mean.” 

She noticed Chris and smiled widely, crossing the kitchen to hug him. “Oh, you’re so _cute_ , I could just—” She pinched his cheek and Chris swatted her hand away. Her eyes lit up with an idea and she stepped back, pulling her phone out of her back pocket. “Couples photo!” she exclaimed.

She shooed the four of them into place, and Josh slipped an arm around Chris’ waist. He tilted his head against Chris’, his curls brushing Chris’ temple, and Chris found himself staring at Josh out of the corner of his eye. 

“Chris, are you even _trying_ to look at the camera?” Hannah scolded, frowning at him. She looked back at her phone. “And turn off the goddamn sweater, Josh. It’s distracting.” 

“ _You’re_ distracting,” Josh said under his breath, but he did as she asked, reaching inside the sweater to turn it off. They posed again, better this time, and Hannah snapped a few photos before relinquishing them.

Beth and Sam left—probably to sneak upstairs—and Chris helped himself to a glass of eggnog, if only to have something in his hand. Josh followed suit, and they finally ventured into the party. 

“Party” was a terrible word for it. Beth was right; it was a bunch of stuffy rich people talking about stuffy rich people things, but Chris listened intently to every dull conversation topic, a smile plastered on his face. Josh was charming as ever, and his relatives seemed to genuinely like him, most of them not even fazed by the ridiculous sweater. Everyone’s names swam in Chris’ mind, and he forgot the last person as soon as he met another; it was a taxing amount of socialization, but Chris reveled in being introduced as Josh’s boyfriend, over and over again. The word was a pleasing shock, no matter how many times he heard it. 

Finally Josh pulled them away from a particularly mind-numbing conversation, and they retreated to a secluded corner. Chris surveyed the room, surprised and a little disappointed that the Washington family Christmas party was so… _normal_. 

Josh leaned against the wall, facing Chris with an amused expression. He took a sip of his eggnog. “Boring as hell, huh?” 

“What?” Chris said. “No! Do I look bored?” 

“It’s okay,” Josh chuckled. “You can admit it.” 

“It’s just—nobody was ever invited to your Christmas party. Friends, boyfriends, girlfriends. It got a little mythical, so it’s hard to believe it’s, you know…” Chris trailed off, fumbling for the right word.

“The same old shit?” Josh suggested.

A waiter passed them by, carrying a tray of something that looked expensive and unappetizing, and Chris said, “Well.”

Josh laughed, and they watched the waiter recede into the crowd. When Chris looked back, Josh's expression was surprisingly serious. 

“I’m glad you came,” Josh said. He took Chris’ free hand in his, and Chris held Josh’s gaze. 

“I’m glad you invited me,” he said. “Besides, I’ll do anything to hear you call me your boyfriend fifty times in a single afternoon.” 

Josh’s lips curled in a soft smile. “What else would I call you?” he asked. Chris didn’t have an answer for that, but he didn’t need one—something over his shoulder caught Josh’s attention, and Josh’s eyebrows shot up. “Not-terrible relative coming our way,” he said. He whispered some quick facts in Chris’ ear, mentioning that she was an indie film producer. His grip on Chris’ hand tightened, and he added, “ _Be cool._ ”

The woman was Josh’s aunt—Mr. Washington’s sister—and she gave Josh a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek, telling him how grown-up he looked. They chatted for a moment, and then she turned her attention to Chris, a playful smile on her lips. 

“And who is this handsome young man?” she asked, sounding like she already knew the answer. Feeling empowered by how well he’d done so far—and determined to impress—Chris leapt in before Josh could say anything. He held out his hand and said, without even thinking about it, “I’m Chris Washington.” 

Josh choked on his drink, staring at Chris with wide eyes, and Chris realized what he’d said. Josh’s aunt raised her eyebrows, not expecting that answer any more than Chris had been, and she looked back at Josh. “You’re—?”

“No,” Chris blurted quickly. “No, I just—” He cut himself off, his cheeks starting to burn, and he decided to spare himself the embarrassment of an explanation. The words were just behind his lips, but they were a nervous, rambling mess. Chris did the only thing he could think of: He shoved his drink into Josh’s hand and said, “I need to go to the bathroom.” 

Refusing to meet their gazes, Chris turned on his heel and made a beeline for the nearest bathroom. He locked himself in and leaned back against the door, pulling out his phone. 

**Chris:** I FUCKED UP!!!!!!  
**Ashley:** ??????  
**Chris:** ACCIDENTALLY INTRODUCED MYSELF AS CHRIS WASHINGTON, SPRINTED TO THE BATHROOM  
**Ashley:** OMFG  
**Ashley:** i always suspected you’d take his last name ;)  
**Chris:** STOP  
**Chris:** what do i do????  
**Ashley:** lmao is there a window

There was a knock on the door before Chris could respond, and he backed away, his heart leaping into his throat. “Someone’s in here,” he said. 

“I know, dumbass,” Josh said. “I came to find you.” Chris didn’t move, and he heard Josh sigh from the other side of the door. “You gonna let me in, or do I need to pick the lock?” 

The last thing Chris needed was Josh picking the bathroom lock in front of his entire family, so he set his phone on the sink and opened the door. He pulled Josh in and locked the door behind them. Josh stared at him with an absolutely wicked grin on his face. 

“Chris Washington, huh?” 

Chris moved to cover his face, but Josh was quick. He caught Chris’ hands and pulled them back to Chris’ sides. He nudged Chris until they were backed against the sink, the marble digging into Chris’ lower back. 

“Has a pretty nice ring to it, if you ask me,” Josh said. “Pun intended.” 

Chris rolled his eyes. “Don’t fucking mock me, dude.” 

“I’m not mocking you,” Josh insisted. 

“Then what are you doing?” 

“Making out with you,” Josh said, and the next second he was doing just that, his lips pressed hungrily against Chris’. Chris’ gasp stuck in throat, and he swallowed it down before reciprocating, feeling all too needy after Josh’s teasing kiss in the other room. He pulled Josh against him, and there was a faint _click_ as Josh’s sweater lit up, the skull glowing brightly. Josh huffed a laugh, his breath warm against Chris’ mouth. 

“I can take it off, if it’s bothering you,” Josh said. His voice was low. Chris let out a small moan, sorely regretting that they were in Josh’s bathroom in the middle of a family party. 

“Door’s locked,” Josh pointed out. One of his hands snaked underneath Chris’ shirt, fingers cool against bare skin, and Chris inhaled sharply, leaning slightly into the touch. Josh noticed, looking smug as hell, and he lowered himself to kiss Chris’ stomach. He toyed with the waist of Chris’ pants, and Chris made another noise of warning.

“I promise you, Chris, you will never get a blowjob in a bathroom as nice as this one,” Josh said. 

“I was sort of trying to avoid bathroom blowjobs altogether,” Chris said, and Josh looked up him, aghast. 

“Even on _Christmas_?” 

“Can’t say it’s a part of my holiday tradition,” Chris joked. Josh hummed in the back of his throat and unsnapped the button of Chris’ pants. 

“Perhaps we should remedy that.”

Chris agreed on the condition that Josh went easy on him, so of course, Josh didn’t. Chris almost split his lip trying to keep his mouth shut, and Josh looked so pleased about it that Chris had to grumble, “You are asking to get us caught.” Josh made a noise that might have been a laugh and sucked harder, Chris’ comment speeding him up instead of slowing him down. Chris stared at Josh in disbelief. “Are you _into_ that?” he asked.

Josh pulled off long enough to say, “I’m into you.” 

“Flattery won’t hide your kinks, Josh,” Chris huffed, and then he couldn’t say anything more. One of his hands gripped Josh’s hair while the other curled around the lip of the sink, knuckles white as he tried to keep himself on his feet. He vaguely registered his phone vibrating against the marble, and Josh reached up, swiping blindly until it clattered into the sink. His hand settled on Chris’ waist after, holding him steady, and Chris lost all awareness of anything that wasn’t Josh’s mouth.

Chris managed not to cry out, Josh managed an impressive feat of swallowing, and—even more miraculously—no one knocked on the bathroom door. Josh went on about the benefits of bathroom blowjobs (mainly, easy access to cleaning supplies) while Chris made himself presentable, checking his reflection for any visible sign of what had just happened.

He noticed his phone in the bowl and pulled it out, checking his texts. 

**Ashley:** i was kidding pls don’t jump out a window  
**Ashley:** chris?????  
**Chris:** all good :) :) :)

Josh came up behind him, arms wrapping around Chris’ waist. He stood on his tiptoes to peek over Chris’ shoulder. 

“Bragging about my skills to Ashley?” he asked, nuzzling into the side of Chris’ neck.

“All day, every day,” Chris said, which wasn’t too far from the truth. He looked in the mirror again and cursed at the sight of Josh. “Dude, we have to do something about this sex hair.” 

Chris turned around and ran his fingers through it, trying to smooth it out. Josh gave him a lazy smile. “Or you could just keep doing that,” he said.

“Nice try,” Chris teased. He did what he could with Josh’s hair, which wasn’t much, and then they were just standing there, breathing each other’s air. Josh looked at Chris with an impossibly warm expression, and Chris felt a twinge of embarrassment. “Hey,” he said. “I know it was a dumb accident, but I’m sorry if what I said freaked you out. I know you’re not—” Chris was going to say “serious,” but Josh’s look was turning quizzical, and Chris made himself shut up. 

“I’m not what?” Josh prompted.

“I dunno,” Chris said, backpedaling. “I don’t really know what I was going to say.” 

Josh’s face was unreadable, and Chris’ wished he hadn’t said anything. Josh had done more than enough to pull Chris from his pit of anxiety, and here he was, dredging up his shitty insecurities and dragging them back to square one. Josh fixed him with a hard—though not unkind—look and asked, “You're staying over tonight?” 

“I brought clothes," Chris said. "Plus, you know I’m going to fall asleep, like, ten minutes after we start a movie.” 

“True,” Josh said. “Okay. Good.” He smiled faintly and leaned forward to kiss the corner of Chris’ mouth. Chris tilted his head to catch Josh’s lips, trying to pour his apology into the kiss. It was soft and sweet, and Josh seemed to accept it. He pulled away and tugged on Chris’ sleeve. “Let’s go back to the party.” 

Josh cracked the door and poked his head out, scanning the hallway. He winked at Chris over his shoulder. “Coast is clear,” he said. “Give it two minutes, and then you can come out.” 

Chris nodded, watching Josh slip out the door and timing it on his phone before leaving himself. Josh met up with him like nothing had happened, though Chris noticed his eyes were brighter, his smile wider, his touches more frequent. It was ridiculous and endearing at the same time—a pretty accurate summary of his boyfriend, now that Chris thought about it.

Chris steered clear of Josh’s aunt for the rest of the afternoon (an easy task, given the size of the Washington’s house), and he managed not to make any more verbal fumbles. Relatives filtered out one by and one, and by 6 p.m., all of them were gone. Mr. and Mrs. Washington wished them a merry Christmas and went upstairs, leaving Chris, Sam, and the twins collapsed together on a couch. 

“Too much mingling,” Sam complained, slumping onto Beth’s shoulder. “I’m ready for a nap.” 

“You asked for this,” Beth chided. She wrapped an arm around Sam anyway, pulling her a bit closer, and Sam let out a contended sigh. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Chris did the same, leaning his head against the back of the couch. 

Chris’ eyes had been shut for no more than a few seconds when Josh barreled into the room, a storm of energy. “Now the _real_ party begins,” he crowed. He pulled out his phone to send the all clear before looking at their sad, tired heap. He scoffed and pulled a long string of tinsel off the nearby mantle. 

“Get _up_ ,” he barked, whapping them in turn until they groaned and obliged. He saved Chris for last, and Chris was ready—he grabbed the tinsel just before it hit his face and gave Josh a stern look.

“Don’t hit me with your limp noodle,” he said. Josh’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. 

“Never limp for you, Cochise,” he teased. He straddled Chris’ lap, and Chris tried frantically to push him off.

“Holy fuck,” Chris said, but Josh didn’t budge. He wrapped the tinsel around Chris’ neck like a scarf, his tongue poking between his lips. 

“Just trying to wake you up, bro,” he said innocently. “You look tired.” 

Chris rolled his eyes and let Josh do his thing, even though the tinsel was rough and ticklish against his skin. Josh leaned back to survey his work, looking at Chris admiringly. 

“A Chris for Christmas,” he said. “What more could a guy want?” 

“Please don’t make that joke,” Chris said. Josh chuckled and tugged on the tinsel until Chris leaned forward. Josh kissed Chris on the tip of his nose and got up, holding out a hand. Chris took it.

“Do I need to wear this for the rest of the night?” Chris asked, when Josh didn’t make a move to take the tinsel off. 

“Only if you want to grant your boyfriend’s Christmas wish,” Josh said casually, sauntering off to rejoin the group. Chris scoffed and scratched at his neck, but he didn’t take it off.

***

The rest of the gang arrived soon after, and they gathered in the Washington’s kitchen. Ashley had baked enough gingerbread for two big houses, and they split into two groups for decorating. Chris was with Josh, Ashley, Mike, and Matt, and he kept his eyes glued to the gingerbread wall in front of him as Josh recounted the Chris Washington incident with gusto, making it sound much more dramatic than it was.

Then again, Chris had locked himself in a bathroom afterwards, so perhaps he wasn’t one to talk about dramatics. 

“No worries, though,” Josh concluded. “It all blew over.”

Chris’ eyebrows shot up, and Josh gave him a quick wink before looking away. Only Ashley seemed to notice, and she snorted, poking Chris in the stomach. Chris flailed his hands at her, and she squirted frosting at him, and their spat escalated until Mike took the tube of frosting away from them both, telling them they could have it when they learned to behave.

Distracted from his work, Mike glimpsed the wall Josh was decorating and sighed.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he said. They all turned to look. Josh had drawn a horned creature in black frosting; its eyes were red, and Josh was using the same color to add a long, pointed tongue unfurling from its open mouth.

“Are you drawing Satan on my fucking gingerbread house?” Mike snapped. “Because the theme was Christmas spirit, and I don’t appreciate you disrupting the theme.” 

“First of all, Mike, this is _our_ gingerbread house,” Josh said. “And second of all, this is Krampus.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “That sounds fake.”

“No,” Ashley said. “In Austro-Bavarian folklore, Krampus comes to punish kids who’ve been bad. He’s like the anti-Santa Claus.” 

“See?” Josh said. “Ashley knows what’s up.” They high-fived across the table, and Mike’s eyes narrowed even further.

“Whatever,” he muttered. He fell silent and went back to his side, adding rainbow gumdrops with newfound aggression. 

Josh’s story had set off a chain, and they exchanged ridiculous Christmas Day stories—past and present—until both gingerbread houses were stuffed with so many sweets that it was a wonder they didn’t collapse. Chris looked at the other group’s house with thinly veiled jealousy. It was beautiful—frosting dangled from edges like icicles, and the roof looked like it was covered in delicious, vanilla-flavored snow. Emily admired her work, letting her gaze slide over to their group’s house with a smug expression. 

“Glad to see that theme worked out for you guys,” she said. She had a point. Theirs was a mess, a mishmash of designs that clashed horribly. Ashley’s area was the best by far, and Josh’s—well, it was very Josh. 

Mike threw a spare gumball, hitting Emily in the eye. Emily balked as the gumdrop bounced onto the table, and she glared at it so harshly that Chris expected it to melt. “No, you fucking _didn’t_ ,” she said. Her voice was dangerously low, and before anyone could stop her, she’d reached for the bag of peppermints.

The next minute was pure chaos. Peppermints and gumdrops flew everywhere, and Chris yelled that this wasn’t a fair fight, hard mints bouncing painfully off his arms and chest. A mint hit Josh’s decoration head-on, and Josh screamed, “ _Not Krampus!_ ” as Mike grabbed a tube of frosting. He popped the top, pointing it at Emily like a gun, and Emily froze on the spot. 

“Don’t!” she shouted. She let her handful of mints clatter onto the table and held up her arms in surrender. “You know how much this sweater cost, Mike, fucking _don’t._ ” 

Mike pressed his lips together, debating. He had the upper hand here—a rare occurrence—and it was clear he intended to use it. 

“Say our gingerbread house is better,” he said. 

“Are you shitting me?” Emily said. 

“All of you,” Mike insisted. “Say our gingerbread house is better, and that it’s best goddamn gingerbread house you’ve ever seen. Even the dumb Krampus wall.” 

“Krampus is dead,” Josh whispered. Mike kicked Josh’s leg, shushing him. 

Emily let out a heavy sigh, and Mike gave the tube a warning squeeze. “Fine!” Emily said. “Jesus, fine. It’s the best goddamn gingerbread house I’ve ever seen. Right?” She turned to the rest of the girls, and they nodded enthusiastically, repeating the sentiment. Satisfied, Mike took his seat again, staring their Frankenstein’s monster of a gingerbread house. He reached forward and broke off the roof’s edge, popping it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, his face scrunching up. 

“Tastes like fuckin’ cardboard,” he said after he’d swallowed. “Cardboard and sugar.”

Matt snorted a laugh. “Do you know what cardboard tastes like, Mike?” 

Mike looked guilty, and he reached for another piece, pointedly avoiding the question. Matt’s expression turned serious, and he slapped a hand on the table. “Mike, _do you know what cardboard tastes like_?” he asked again. 

Mike shrugged. “It was a dare. Someone paid me fifty bucks.” 

“Who the—” Matt started. His gaze snapped instinctively to Josh, and he said, “Dude.”

“I was drunk,” Josh said, throwing his hands up. “My judgment was impaired.”

“I was not,” Mike admitted. “But it was fifty bucks.” 

Matt leaned back in his chair, looking weary. He rubbed his hands over his face. “I need new friends.”

***

They exchanged Secret Santa gifts next—Chris got Ashley a _Pride & Prejudice_ sweater from Out of Print, which made her eyes nearly bug out of her head, and Sam got Chris a piece of _Final Fantasy_ art, which had the exact same effect. Hannah took more pictures than was strictly necessary, and Beth made hot chocolate while the rest of them changed into their pajamas and shuffled into the theater room.

Josh had a stack of Christmas movies ready to go, and he popped in the first one before joining Chris in one of the two-seaters, a blanket in hand. Chris tried to keep a dopey grin off his face as Josh came toward him, thinking that the only thing better than Josh in a suit was Josh in pajamas. Chris had pegged him as a boxers-only kind of guy, but it turned out Josh had very strong feelings about flannel pants. “I take my relaxation seriously,” he’d joked when Chris once commented on it, and Chris took it for the blessing it was. Josh was hard edges, in every sense of the word, but pajamas softened him somehow, made him warm. 

Chris curled into the warmth now, letting Josh drape the blanket over their legs. He felt a small hum of excitement as Josh searched for his hand, and Chris met him halfway, linking their fingers together. Josh leaned his head against Chris’, a small grin on his lips, and they settled in to watch the movie. 

Chris had been right earlier—he didn’t last very long. Josh’s heat and the comfort of the couch lulled him closer and closer to sleep, and the second movie had barely started when he conked out. 

He woke up on his back, his calves hanging off the arm of the loveseat and Josh half on top of him. Chris had no idea how he came to be in this position, but he didn’t mind it; the tips of Josh’s hair brushed pleasantly against Chris’ chin, and Josh’s fingers were still curled gently around his, their tangled hands resting on Chris’ chest. Careful not to move too much, Chris peeked at everyone else. Sam, Hannah, and Beth were already gone, probably starting breakfast; Emily and Jess had fallen asleep sitting up, Jess’ head lolling on Emily’s shoulder. Ashley and Matt looked comfortable in their respective seats, and Mike had somehow ended up on the floor, burrito-wrapped in a blanket. 

Josh stirred, his breath hitching as he woke up. For a second Chris worried that he’d had a nightmare, but then he tilted his head to look at Chris with sleepy eyes and a soft smile, and Chris relaxed.

“Morning, sunshine,” Josh said. His voice was husky, and Chris tried not to think about how attractive it was. Failing already, he kissed Josh’s forehead.

“Morning,” he said. “Sleep well?” 

“Always sleep better with you.” 

“Bullshit,” Chris said, and Josh laughed softly. He pressed closer to Chris and sighed.

“I don’t want to get up.” 

“Okay,” Chris said, and they didn’t. They lay together in a comfortable, half-awake state until Beth came barging in with pans in her hands, threatening to bang them together if everyone’s asses weren’t in the kitchen in five minutes. Josh cast her a dark look but complied, and they had a sleepy pancake breakfast on the couches, the kitchen table still covered in last night’s mess. 

Everyone left shortly after, not even bothering to change. Jess paused to hug Chris, saying, “You did well,” and Chris thanked her again. Soon it was just Chris, Josh, and the twins. Beth and Hannah went upstairs, and Josh bumped Chris’ shoulder.

“We still have gifts,” he said. “Can I go first?” 

Chris nodded, and Josh led him to the theater room again. Chris wanted to ask why they were going back, but Josh was unusually quiet, and Chris swallowed the question. He didn’t say anything when Josh sat him down in the same seats they’d slept in, and when he brought forth a wrapped DVD, Chris took it with nothing more a raised eyebrow. Usually he was the one buying movies for Josh, not the other way around.

Then he pulled off the wrapping paper, and he understood. 

“Holy shit.” 

On the cover was an old picture of Chris and Josh, skinny little arms thrown over each other’s shoulders. Above it were the words, “Best Bros Productions: The Complete Collection.” Chris flipped the case and found a list of all the films he and Josh had made as kids. “The Ghost of Mount Washington.” “Attack of the Flesh-Eating Monster.” The list went on.

“We really need to work on our titles,” Chris joked. He tore his eyes away from the case to look at Josh. “You kept all these tapes?” 

“Of course I did,” he said. “You think I’d get rid of these masterpieces?” 

Chris laughed, running over the title list again. He’d almost forgotten about this, but now it was all coming back to him. Josh bounced his leg nervously. 

“I was going to just give this to you, but I kind of think… Maybe we should watch it.”

“Heck _yes_ ,” Chris said. He handed it over to Josh and made himself comfortable as Josh set it up. He came back, and Chris pulled the blanket over them this time, leaning into Josh as the film started. Josh’s leg started bouncing again.

Watching their younger selves was a lot of things. Embarrassing, because most of these were horror movies, and young Chris kept freaking out and fumbling with the camera, even though he’d helped write the script. Amusing, because their pre-puberty voices were so high-pitched, and Josh was just the tiniest kid, all skin and bones big, wide eyes. It was a lot of things that Chris couldn’t even find the words for, and the more he watched, the more he realized how stupid he’d been, thinking Josh wasn’t serious. This was their childhood; _they_ were their childhoods.

Both of them were silent when it was over. Josh rubbed his thumb across Chris’, looking down at their hands. 

“You’re it, dude,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

Josh gave him a skeptical look, lips twitching in a wry smile. “Clearly, you didn’t.” 

“I do now,” Chris said. He met Josh’s gaze and kissed him, slow but firm. He tugged at the fabric of Josh’s shirt to bring him closer, and Josh obliged. Still not satisfied, Chris pulled Josh onto his lap. Josh laughed a little, looking at Chris affectionately. 

“Here we are again.”

“Sans tinsel,” Chris said. “My personal preference.” 

Josh smiled and leaned in for another kiss. His tongue flicked gently at Chris’ lips, and Chris opened his mouth without hesitation, letting out a small, happy sigh as Josh’s hands came to rest in his hair. 

“What did you get me?” Josh asked. 

Chris remembered his present, still stashed away, and he flushed. “Fuck. It’s a scrapbook. Which is like, the same thing but not as cool.” 

Josh's expression was a mixture of surprise and warmth. “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he said. “Pun intended.” 

Chris gave an exaggerated sigh, and then Josh’s hands were trailing down. He pulled at the neck of Chris’ shirt and planted a soft kiss on Chris’ collarbone before moving up a little, biting and sucking just enough to leave a mark. “Will you look through it with me?” he asked.

Chris worried how his voice would sound if he opened his mouth, so he nodded instead. Josh pulled away, and Chris frowned, leaning forward. Josh stopped him.

“Did you have a good Christmas?” he asked. Chris glared at him. 

“Don’t milk it,” he warned, and Josh grinned widely. It reminded Chris of the small, goofy kid from their movies, and he couldn’t help but grin in return.

(The answer was yes.)

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i'll stop talking about preppy chris, i SWEAR


End file.
